


The Club

by hit_the_books



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Will Graham, Butt Plugs, Collars, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Marking, Not Beta Read, Orgy, Possessive Sex, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sex Club, Sub Will Graham, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham in Panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: Will and Hannibal are on vacation in London. Hannibal takes Will to a discrete club one evening and Will manages to bring out Hannibal's possessive side.OR:The one where Will accidentally cock teases a bunch of guys in a sex club and Hannibal must respond.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 248





	The Club

**Author's Note:**

> (Based on real events... The club wasn't in London, it was another English city. Buttons like the one described in this fic do exist in clubs like this. A friend of mine may have been in Will's position once. (Those poor guys.))
> 
> This is my second posted Hannigram fic.
> 
> Still finding my way writing these two together, but I hope you enjoy the fic.

Will isn’t completely sure where they are. They’d started in an apartment in the heart of Islington and are now somewhere in Soho, Will thinks. The cab driver doesn’t talk, as if sensing that Hannibal doesn’t want any conversation, which suits Will. He’s plastered to Hannibal’s side as Hannibal strokes tender fingers through Will’s curls—London is a big step for Will after their relative solitude of the past year. Where Hannibal appears to be able to feel comfortable no matter where the pair of them are, Will’s mind palaces and ability to find an ounce of zen are both limited.

Shifting even closer to Hannibal, Will feels the tug of the panties beneath his own suit. The delicate gold lace and crimson silk cups him close and holds him as surely as Hannibal’s arms. The crimson and gold panties are part of an ensemble that includes a matching, though white and gold trimmed garter belt, and a pair of white stockings topped with gold lace trim—over them all is a pale charcoal suit and open neck eggshell blue shirt that Will will soon shed. Hannibal’s made it clear that he expects Will to work past his shyness for the evening and Will thinks he can do that for Hannibal. Meanwhile, Hannibal will remain clothed, his only concession the removal of his suit jacket so that he’s dressed in his deep tan waist jacket, slacks, white shirt, red tie and black oxfords once they reach their true destination.

The cab rolls to a stop and Hannibal pays the fare in cash plus tip and then leads Will out of the sleek, black vehicle, shouldering an Italian leather on his other side. Heat and volume hit Will as he steps out into Soho on a late summer Friday night. Revelers of all sorts stream past, all with different destinations in mind as they spill in and out of clubs and businesses that cater to slightly different tastes than much of London. A group of tourists behind them marches firmly in the direction of what one sign says is Chinatown, their chatter drawing Will’s attention for a moment until Hannibal snaps it back to him as he takes Will’s hand and leads him through the streets.

Minutes later, the two of them stand outside a brick building with an archway covered in deep green tiles, its structure stretching above them suggesting an origin somewhere in the 1920s. The hub-hub of Friday night is quieter here, the two bouncers standing outside are calm and professional, not giving Will and Hannibal a second look as Hannibal leads the two of them inside the building.

A dull beat of music begins to creep into Will as they reach a front desk, the space comfortingly cool, and Hannibal flashes something to the woman attending there. She’s dressed all in black, like the bouncers outside, with no trace of allegiance. The space looks like something from an Agatha Christie novel, all pale walls, geometric flourishes and tiles. Simply dressed loungers and chairs.

“Good to see you, sir. Just the two of you?” asks the attendant, voice prim and distinctly Sussex.

“Yes, just the two of us,” Hannibal replies.

“Excellent, if you’d take the door to the right, you’ll find our locker room. Please feel free to store any clothes or belongings there. The entrance to the club is just further on.”

“Thank you. Come, Will,” Hannibal prompts, grip light as he draws Will with him and heads in the direction of the locker room.

In the locker room it’s just the two of them. The music is a degree louder, bouncing through Will as he strips down to just the panties, garter belt and stockings. From the satchel, Hannibal produces a pair of red leather pumps and helps Will into them. Hannibal removes his own jacket and rolls up his shirt sleeves.

Once their things are safely locked away—except for the satchel, which Hannibal keeps with him—the key stashed on Hannibal, Will lets out a long breath to center himself. _I am beautiful_ , Will reassures himself as Hannibal steps in behind him and grips him delicately by the neck, right hand splaying over Will’s throat for a second and then gone. A second passes and then Hannibal lowers a crimson leather collar, barely two fingers wide, around Will’s neck before cinching it at the back. Will swallows and the gold-brass hoop at the front of the collar bobs with his Adams apple.

Hannibal draws Will to stand in front of him, and lowers a fixed-gaze on him, taking in all of Will—every memory etched into his skin.

“You look scrumptious,” Hannibal murmurs. He leans in to kiss Will on the lips, and Will doesn’t hesitate to return the kiss, mouth opening easily until he’s red and gasping. Assured that he is indeed beautiful, Will allows himself to be led into the club proper.

They step through a set of double doors covered in deep purple leather, evenly spaced buttons drawing in hollow circles, and the music washes over Will. It’s not too loud, some kind of electrifying dance mix that is the opposite of anything Hannibal listens to, but Will quickly starts ignoring the music as he takes in the varied assembly of bodies before him. The lighting is low, but not too low—gentle and inviting.

Hannibal talked of coming here, because he wanted to finally show Will off to at least some people, now that they are healed and the manhunt for them died down to a tolerable level. Tonight is Will’s first time being presented and he holds this milestone like a bubble in his chest that’s waiting to burst out of him with joy.

“Shall we have a look around?” Hannibal asks.

“Yes,” Will agrees. Hannibal strides through the club at a comfortable pace, giving Will’s eyes time to wonder.

On the first floor (or ground floor as they say in England) is a relaxing atmosphere, helped by a bar that runs the full length of the left side of the space, with booths and comfortable seating areas opposite. Here the expectation is for attendees to relax and talk, socialize with other club goers. But once they go up, Will begins to see more of the club’s true nature—as if the near naked, naked bodies and few dressed in suits or full fetish gear weren’t enough of a hint before.

One balcony area has another series of comfortable seats, couples and poly groups sat together, watching a porno of two men fucking, the viewers splitting their attention between the projection and those they are there with. Will catches sight of a woman fucking down onto a man’s lap, her back to him, as they watch the two men blown up to inhuman proportions on one wall.

Around to the left of the stairway that Will and Hannibal have ascended, there are a series of doorways leading off with an array of signs explaining what one might find through those doors. Private play. Dungeon. Sauna. Hot tubs. Private rooms. Restrooms. The balcony that holds these doorways is wide and has an array of chairs, loungers, pouffes, and various “position enhancers”. There are clearly presented boxes of cleaning wipes, tubs of condoms and automated lube dispensers— _just hold your hand up, and lo, lube!_ Will thinks to himself with a smile.

It’s a lot to take in and they haven’t even headed towards any of the rooms yet. Hannibal comes to stand beside Will and rests a hand on the small of his back, he looks out across everything with Will, quietly assessing.

“Would you like a drink?” Hannibal asks, mouth by Will’s ear, breath hot.

“Yes!” Will answers. He doesn’t say what, trusting Hannibal to make the right choice for him.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Hannibal says and then with a kiss to Will’s cheek, heads back down the stairs they came up.

Curious, Will wanders over to the assortment of furniture. He looks over the supplies beside it all, reassured at the quality and volume of what’s there. Eyes skimming over the area, he spots a button. _Why is there a button here?_ Will ponders, looking at the red plastic device that’s attached to the banister that runs the length of the balcony. It seems a very strange place to have a button, a very strange place indeed. There’s no chevrons or any markings that suggest it’s part of some kind of fire or other warning system. It is just a button.

Will presses the button.

Nothing seems to happen.

He presses it again, pushing the plastic down against its metal fitting.

Still nothing.

Wondering why on earth anyone would put a random button in the middle of a place like this he decides to drape himself over a chaise lounge covered in black vinyl and patiently wait for Hannibal to appear with their drinks.

A few moments later, there is a commotion by the stairs and Will glances up to see a group of men, in varying levels of undress, climbing to the top of the stairs and looking over to the area where Will is sat. They spot him and walk over, their expressions growing confused as they take him in. Will feels a little shy to suddenly have so many pairs of eyes on him. There are a half dozen men standing around him, looking around like they expected someone or something else to be here.

Needing to put away his own nervousness, Will decides the best thing he can do is talk. He looks to the nearest guy. “Having a good evening?” Will asks.

The man, all six foot seven of him, looks down to Will, a surprised expression on his face and then smiles. “Yeah,” he says in a thick East End accent, “it’s been pretty good so far. Most people I’ve seen here in awhile. You?”

“I’m enjoying myself so far,” Will replies and wonders whether there’s a queue at the bar.

“Your accent… You’re a Yank, right?” asks the guy, eyes flitting here and there over Will. He knows he’s not dressed at all like the men who’ve come up the stairs, but he's seen a few in the club in more feminine attire—from panties and to full latex dresses.

Will doesn’t take offense to being called a “Yank”—it’s not the first time it’s happened while he’s been in London, though normally the locals ask him if he’s “American”—and so he answers honestly.

“I am.”

“What brings you to London?” asks another man who’s started to pay attention to Will.

He summons the excuse Hannibal picked for them before they arrived in the city. “A short vacation, with my boyfriend. We’ve not been away from work in so long.”

“Where did you travel from?” asks the first guy.

“We live in Brussels,” Will lies. Their main base is actually Berlin for the moment, but Will isn’t to tell anyone that.

The crowd of men are now all standing around Will, talking with him and among themselves.

“I don’t suppose you’re interested in going to the hot tub, are you?” queries one guy, eyes appreciatively looking over Will.

“No, thank you.”

A hand lands on Will’s right shoulder, the weight and press familiar.

“Gentlemen,” Hannibal says in a voice that Will has not heard in some time—it suggests the possibility of violence. The men back away from Will and Hannibal. “Thank you for keeping my boyfriend company.” Unsaid but clear: _leave now._

The men nod and smile awkwardly, filing back down the stairs and to the first floor. Hannibal sits down beside Will and passes over a tumbler with a double of whiskey sitting in it while keeping hold of his own glass of gin and tonic. A beat passes and Will takes a sip of the whiskey, letting the amber liquid scorch down his throat.

Gin and tonic deftly held between his long fingers, Hannibal looks over to Will, using his free hand to tuck a curl of hair behind his ear. Will can tell that Hannibal wants to say something, but he has no idea what.

The club continues to pulse around them and they drink their drinks until they’re finished. Hannibal puts the glasses away in a clear up station and then stands in front of Will, crotch level with his face. Maybe it’s the whiskey that has Will wanting to lean in and rub his face against Hannibal’s clothed crotch. Or it’s just the fact that nuzzling him there would, in general, feel right.

“Will,” Hannibal starts, “did you press the button, over there?” He points at the red button.

Knowing that honesty is best, Will nods. “Yes, I did.”

A bemused chuckle works its way out of Hannibal and he grins. “My dear, sweet boy, did you wonder perhaps if the button and your sudden entourage were related?”

Eyes widening in realization, Will gulps. “What’s meant to happen when it’s pressed?”

“A light goes off down by the bar, signaling to the men gathered there, and interested in such things, that a woman is waiting here where you are sat, ready to take part in,” Hannibal pauses and struggles for a moment to keep a straight face, “a gang bang.”

Will’s cheeks are flaming red as embarrassment and understanding collide. “Oh,” he says lamely.

“I suspect they were all quite surprised to find you rather than some nubile woman.” Hannibal licks his lips. “Though, I believe if the hot tub offer I overheard-”

“You heard that?”

“Oh yes. If that offer is to be believed then clearly I need to perform a demonstration and show all in attendance just who it is that you belong to.” Hannibal leans forward and hooks a finger through the loop on the front of Will’s collar, forcing his face up until they’re breathing each other’s air. “I know you agree.”

“Of course,” Will answers, voice a little choked off, dizzy as anticipation starts to thrum through him. _Of course he needs to show me off and demonstrate who I belong to_ , Will thinks, and of course it’s far more than walking around the city holding hands or kissing in public— _He wants to_ claim _me_ , Will concludes. _So there is no doubt in anyone’s mind_.

Tenderly, Hannibal lays Will out on the chaise lounge, and covers his body with his own, kissing him hard and then working down his neck. Mouth sucking and nipping, one sweet pinch at a time, teasing Will’s flesh until it starts to go red, a trail of love bites down his neck, across his collar bone and pecs, then down his trembling stomach muscles. Will can feel himself filling out, starting to chub, finding each of Hannibal’s ministrations delectable.

Hannibal reaches Will’s panties and noses at the taut silk that’s straining over Will’s cock. He licks the length through the fabric and Will whimpers, trying not to squirm. Mouth fixing over Will’s covered tip, Hannibal sucks and licks until the silk there is a mix of his saliva and Will’s pre-come. Backing off, Hannibal kneels between Will’s legs and Will looks up at Hannibal to find his partner’s pupils blown and a clear hunger burning within.

“Get on all fours,” Hannibal orders.

Will complies and as he shifts, he sees out of the corners of his eyes that the two of them have drawn a crowd, including some of the people who had been watching the porno. But here in this space, with Hannibal’s collar around his neck and Hannibal by his side, Will preens under the attention—enjoying being able to show how well he and Hannibal fit together.

Pressing his face into the arm of the chaise lounge, and shoving his ass up in the air, Will waits for Hannibal’s next move. Behind him, he hears the slap of the satchel being opened up and then the whir of one of the lube dispensers. Hannibal leans in to Will’s ass, breath hot on his cheeks, and pulls the panties to one side. Will moans as Hannibal presses a lube slicked finger to his hole, pressing past the first ring of muscle there and teasing him with small, slow circles and then he pushes the finger past the next ring and eases it forward, forward until-

“AH!” Will screams at the first touch of that oh so sensitive nub inside of him.

“Such a good boy for me, aren’t you,” Hannibal praises, making Will cry out again.

He quivers around Hannibal’s finger, cock slowly peeking out from the panties, tip sneaking past the waistband. Hannibal continues to stroke and thrust the finger, soon adding a second and working him harder and harder. Distantly, Will is aware of their audience, and of others taking their pleasure either touching themselves or starting to have sex on other seats as Hannibal works Will over.

Will gives a long moan as Hannibal pulls his fingers out, leaving Will’s hole fluttering with the sudden emptiness. But before Will can whine at the loss, he feels the pressure of a plug pressing in, wet and solid, the weight much more than Hannibal’s fingers and several sizes wider. He can’t help pushing back against the plug as it slides in, flared base catching on his stretched rim. There’s a slight burn as Will adjusts, but it’s pressed inside him just so and each small movement has it brushing his prostate (the press helped by the panties crowding against him).

Looking up, Will watches through watery eyes as Hannibal moves around him, coming up to the arm of the chaise lounge.

“Head up,” Hannibal orders.

Will draws himself up until his mouth is level with the firm covered line of Hannibal’s cock, which is thick and full behind Hannibal’s flies. _Yes_ , Will thinks greedily, knowing how Hannibal is about to use him.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” Hannibal says nonchalantly, almost as if he is discussing the weather. Hannibal opens his flies and pulls his cock out, hard and leaking offering the tip to Will like it’s a sacrament.

Desire and reverence curling inside of him, Will licks a line across the tip of Hannibal’s cock, tasting the saltiness of his pre-come and breathing in the solid muskiness that is very much Hannibal. After a few more slow licks to the tip, Hannibal steps closer and Will swallows more of him down. Will’s gag reflex isn’t as strong as it once was and he’s able to take much of Hannibal down his throat, keeping his right hand on the base of Hannibal’s cock and his left gripping the arm of the lounge for support. He bobs his head, sucking and hollowing his cheeks with a consistent flow, quickly finding a rhythm.

As he speeds up, sucking and massaging his tongue along Hannibal’s length, Hannibal sets a hand in Will’s curling hair, holding him tight and close. The contact keeps Will present and tethered to Hannibal. So Will shows his devotion through teasing under the head of Hannibal’s uncut cock, pulling the foreskin back just so he can tease his tongue along Hannibal’s frenulum and then his slit.

Hannibal swears in what might be Italian, Will isn’t sure, and swallows Hannibal again but takes his hand off the base of Hannibal’s cock as he does, and relaxes his throat as much as he can. His nose bumps against Hannibal’s zipper and he swallows, letting his throat flex around Hannibal’s length, which makes Hannibal’s hand tense in his hair and a swarm of Italian and Lithuanian spill from his mouth. He can feel Hannibal is close as small shakes work through him.

With some effort, Hannibal pulls out of Will’s mouth and bends over to kiss him gently on his swollen lips.

“Please,” Will begs, “need _you_.”

Hannibal smiles and kisses Will’s forehead. “Who am I to deny such a good boy.”

Head free, Will stretches his neck and pushes his ass up, eyes closing in pleasure as the plug moves inside of him. And then Hannibal is behind him again, expert fingers twisting the plug and pulling and thrusting it, fucking Will with it—but it’s not what Will wants. He grunts and cries as the plug comes sliding out of him with a wet pop and he feels so empty again. Looking over his shoulder, he watches Hannibal open his slacks and pull them and his underwear down past his thighs, then slick his cock with lube. Hannibal climbs up on the lounge and gets behind Will, one hand on his hip, another pulling the panties to one side, and then lines himself up with Will’s hole.

Hannibal slides into Will in one thrust and Will has to hold onto the arm for dear life as Hannibal gives him no time to adjust—even though Hannibal is bigger than the plug was by several inches. A feeling of fullness sits deep within Will and he pants as Hannibal begins what was always going to be their final descent that night, with Will begging and crying as Hannibal uses him, showing the world who Will is devoted to. Showing who Will can never bear to be apart from ever again.

Draping himself over Will’s back, Hannibal thrusts in and out of Will at a brutal pace, hips snapping wetly against him, left hand on Will’s hip, right laid out against the collar on Will’s neck. Will can feel himself getting close as Hannibal hits his sweet spot with more persistence than he did with the plug.

Hannibal murmurs sweetly and filthily into Will’s ear. “Do you feel the effect you have on me?” He punctuates this with one hard thrust. “See what you drive those who cannot taste, cannot touch, to do? This whole establishment is reenacting the last days of Sodom and Gomorrah, because you are perfect and are you.”

“Please, let me… I need,” Will cries.

“You are forever mine,” Hannibal snarls as he starts to lose his poise and control. “Come for me, sweet boy.”

Will wails as he spills across the chaise lounge and his stomach, the tip of his cock angled up at his arched body, vision going near white. He then screams as Hannibal chomps down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, teeth biting into his flesh and drawing blood. Hannibal is coming with stuttering hips, warm and hot as he fills Will’s hole.

Vaguely, Will is aware of the crowd around him reaching similar climaxes.

As Will comes back to himself, his body shakes and the bite from Hannibal throbs, though has quickly clotted. Hannibal helps Will off the lounge and wipes him down enough to then collect their things and head back downstairs and towards the locker room. He feels like he is floating as Hannibal removes the last of their clothes, locking them away and then takes them to the showers. There are toiletries and towels available, and Hannibal gently washes and cleans Will and then himself, supporting Will’s weight as he cleans them both.

The clean up is punctuated by more praise from Hannibal, with “my sweet boy” and “my love” prominently featuring.

Once they’re washed and dry, Hannibal uses some supplies set aside for club members to clean Will’s neck and then places a dressing on it. In a mirror on one wall, Will catches Hannibal’s smirk as he looks at his handiwork before covering it up. They get dressed. Will goes commando as he puts on his suit again. Hannibal uses the front of his jacket to hide the wet patch of Will’s saliva on the front of his slacks.

Soon they’re out into the London night, the hour well past midnight. It’s still sticky warm and Will is thankful when he gets to curl up against Hannibal again in a cocoon of air-conditioning. There’s even less traffic on the roads now and the ride back to Islington seems to almost take no time at all. Hannibal pulls a water bottle from the satchel and makes Will drink all of it over the drive back.

Hannibal knows what to do with Will after they’ve scened so hard, and makes sure there’s constant contact as they sit in the taxi and then return to the apartment, letting Will snuggle into him as they stand up and Hannibal fixes them hot coco. If they hadn’t already been through so much and Will hadn’t come to know that Hannibal isn’t always selfish, if he was Will of five years ago he would have thought what they’re doing now is impossible.

When they’re finally in bed, Hannibal curls around Will, making sure Will is tight against his chest. He kisses the top of Will’s head and strokes his side.

Just as Will’s about to finally fall asleep, Hannibal whispers, “I still can’t believe you pressed that button.”

Will snorts and half buries his face in his pillow. “I’ll know not to... for next time.”

“Next time, hm?” Hannibal rubs his face in Will’s hair.

Will huffs out a breath. “You never… know,” he says with a yawn as sleep finally claims his weary, aching, satiated body.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments appreciated.
> 
> I'm [hitthebookspost](https://twitter.com/hitthebookspost) on Twitter. See my [carrd here](https://hit-the-books.carrd.co/).


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